


Tomorrow

by lethallethallan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethallethallan/pseuds/lethallethallan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the Arbor Wilds followed by the events with Solas and Morrigan, Inquisitor Lavellan decides to take a night and allow herself to feel everything she’s been suppressing. On her way back to her quarters she stumbles into Cullen’s room making him realize she’s not as strong as he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

_“Our people? The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing Vallaslin? You are not my people.”_

Tomorrow she would be fine. 

_“Be a good lass and restrain her.”_

Tomorrow she would go back to normal and place the Inquisition before herself. 

_“They are slave markings, or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”_

But for tonight, only for tonight she let herself waver.

_“And I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.”_

At last the title she bore crushed her aching shoulders. 

All the choices she’s made, all the things she’s seen and learned, all the people looking at her for guidance, she finally let it all sink in. 

Aravel Lavellan sat on top of Skyhold’s battlements swinging her legs up and down like a child. Usually, nights like this one where she was alone and free to drown in her thoughts terrified her, but on this particular night, she found peace. 

Aravel took another swig of wine, smiling at the nearly empty bottle as she clutched it to her chest. Thanks to the wine, the myriad of voices constantly whispering in her head had been reduced to merely a soft hum. She gazed down into the darkness and for a split second found its arms welcoming. She shook her head in disappointment.

_That… would not be wise…they all still need me._

She threw her head back trying—and failing—to hold back her tears, swaying side to side she let out a heavy sigh. 

“Excuse me milady—Oh! Inquisitor?”

Her grip on the wine bottle tightened. Aravel glanced around to see an Inquisition soldier staring at her in embarrassment. She swallowed hard and tried to think of an excuse as to why she was out here in the middle of the night, in her night gown, with a bottle of wine, sitting on top of the battlements facing towards certain death.   

Damn it all. She was the Inquisitor. 

“Soldier!” she ordered, “Help me get off the ground—wait… no… help…me…to stand.”

“O-Of course, your worship.”

“You should really get some sleep,” she said, “Forget everything you saw and retire for the night. You deserve an early night’s rest!” 

She threw her arms in the air and beamed before taking another mouthful of wine. 

“I-Inquisitor I need to keep guard in case Corypheus—!”

“Alright!” she interrupted, “I’ll let you sleep—guard!”

“Thank you Inquisitor!”

“I’ll be… heading back to my quarters.” 

Feeling rather proud of herself for dealing with the matter so graciously, she took another drink and made her way past the soldier heading towards the nearest door. 

“Inquisitor, that’s the Commanders—!”

The door closed with a loud thud and Aravel found herself in complete darkness. She conjured a small fire in her palm to help look for the exit. It wasn’t long until she crashed painfully into a desk and fell over her two own feet. A deafening crash seemed to thunder across all Thedas. 

“Who’s there?” demanded a voice from above.

_Cullen?_

Aravel tried to answer but all she could muster was a painful groan.

“Inquisitor, is that you?” 

She let out another groan and tried to pick herself up. Sweet delight overcame her as she heard the clanking of her wine bottle against the ground.  

“You’re still alive!” she cooed grabbing the bottle and taking another sip when she finally managed to sit up.

The voice called out again, filled with worry, “Inquisitor? Are you alright? I’ll be right there, just one moment.” 

She could hear him shuffling around and guessed he was frantically dressing himself. She let out a small chuckle and tried to look for him by squinting above. 

_Curse this darkness!_

With a wave of her hand she lit up the room. The light went out a split second later.

_My face…He can’t see me like this…_

Aravel quickly jumped up feeling the whole world reel. She tried to shake it off only to make it worse and when she tried looking for the exit again, she grew frustrated with her inability to make out anything in the dark. 

_I’ll just have to make a run for it._

She lit the room again and stepped forward only to stumble into Cullen.

“Maker’s breath!” He gasped, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She said, turning away from him, “Why aren’t you asleep!“

“I was already awake. I-I had a nightmare— Wait. Why aren’t _you_ asleep?”

“I was just making my way back to my quarters,”she slurred, “If you would be so kind so as to open the door, I will be extremely gr-grateful.” 

She gave him a sluggish bow and immediately clutched her head. 

“Are you drunk?!” he exclaimed. 

“No…I am not d-drunk.” She declared, raising her arms to shield her face. 

She shook her wine bottle at him and smiled triumphantly as she drank another mouthful. 

“Alright stay there,” he ordered, “let me get my coat and I’ll escort you back to your quarters.” 

“Noooo!” 

She reached out to him, grasping his arms, “I don’t want to go to sleep, please!”  

Her terrified emerald eyes watched his baffled amber ones grow wide and she watched as a mix of confusion and worry slowly seeped into his face.

“Your Vallaslin…”he murmured.

“What? Oh no…” 

She quickly let him go and hung her head in shame.

 Aravel didn’t want to tell him the true meaning of the Vallaslin. That the markings the Dalish were so proud of and paraded around for all to see were actually markings of slavery. 

She was ashamed. How could she not be?

She had carefully explained to him the meaning the Dalish placed upon them. That finally having one gave them a sense of pride and self-respect. This practice was one of the few practices the Dalish had that allowed them to stay “true” to the glory days. It was embarrassing to tell him that this was yet another thing the Dalish got wrong. 

After a moment of silence she whispered, “I wanted it gone…”

“What?”

“Where’s my wine bottle?” 

Aravel frantically scanned the room ignoring Cullen’s questioning gaze.  Her heart sank, she saw the bottle had shattered into a million pieces on the ground. The only thing that was able to grant her comfort was now just as broken as she felt.  

“That was my third one…”

“Third?!”

“It helps with the voices, among other things…I can almost ignore them…” she explained, “I’m sorry for the mess…”

“I’ll clean it up in the morning…as of right now the main focus is getting you to bed, and as for the voices… maybe Solas can help.” He said walking towards his ladder.  

She shook her head in disapproval, “I-I don’t want to speak to him…I won’t sleep, I’m too scared…and the dreams… I can’t deal with them tonight.”

“You've been having nightmares?” he asked.

Aravel solemnly gazed at her left hand, the mark spewed out a light green glow. 

“I’ve been having nightmares since joining the Inquisition.”

Cullen stopped and watched helplessly as she dropped to the floor and sobbed.   

_Since joining the Inquisition?_ He thought.

Not once had he seen Aravel falter. In fact he’d come to believe she was invincible ever since she survived the attack on Haven. From then on she handled every hardship thrown at her with ease, never complaining, always leading the Inquisition to victory. 

She would return to Skyhold in high spirits and walk around boosting the morale of all her followers. 

He admired how readily she accepted helping from the start. She warmly accepted advice and worked tirelessly with her advisors and companions, encouraging them all to work as a team. 

She was of the Dalish, yet for the sake of appearances she practically renounced her own religion to be praised and worshiped for another.

When he allowed her to see him at his worst, when he confessed to her all the horrible things he’d done, she consoled him, accepted him, and let him continue to serve her.   

He never worried about her mentality, never thought she could break.

Watching her broken in front of him, seeing the image of her strength crumble before him, he could do nothing but walk up to her and hold her hands in his, trying to offer even a fraction of the amount of consolation she granted him. 

“I’m sorry” she bawled, “You shouldn’t—I shouldn’t let you see me like this.” 

Cullen’s eyes filled with sorrow and regret, he wrapped his arms around her offering himself as a shield. Both of them wept. One for the friend he failed to see was suffering, and the other for allowing herself to shatter.


End file.
